Masquerade
by Crepuscolo Femmina
Summary: In the world of high-end fashion, royal traditions, and sworn enemies, Cameron Morgan struggles to solve an age-old mystery, intertwined with one urban legend that holds the key to a dark, devastating truth. Rated T for violence and lang later on.
1. Summery

_**Disclaimer: I own nothing except what will be specified later on. =D**_

**Masquerade**

_(OFFICIAL Summery)_

In the world of high-end fashion, royal traditions, and sworn enemies, Cameron Morgan struggles to solve an age-old mystery, intertwined with one urban legend that holds the key to a dark, devastating truth: one that, if revealed, could ruin Cammie, crushing her into the dust and extinguishing her name forever. One that, if suppressed, could destroy everything Cammie has worked for...

Romance; passion; betrayal: it's the life of a spy; it's the life of the elite; it's the life Cameron Morgan has signed up to join.

**A/N What do you think? Should I continue? Sound good? A word of warning: the first chapter gets a little bit boring –I even got bored writing it– so it skims a bit and Cammie is a little OOC, shall we say. =) Do you want me to upload it?**


	2. CH1 Agent Behind the Mask

_**Disclaimer: I own nothing... blah blah blah... you know the rest. This applies to the rest of the story so that I don't have to keep writing it.**_

**Chapter 1: The Agent Behind the Mask**

This is SO not how I expected my junior year would start. I _should_ have been sitting in the cafeteria with all my classmates, eating crème brûlé, anticipating what unexpected tests Mr. Solomon would have for us in Sub Level 2, and sharing stories about our summer vacations...

Nope! Not for me. I'm sitting in a private Gallagher jet, heading to some unknown place in Europe (I hacked into the plane's Nav system –don't ask), about to be debriefed about some unknown mission... I didn't even know who my partner was! Well, that was all going to change in about 37 minutes and fifty-two seconds, according to the pilot's clock.

Okay, so here's what I did know:

I was going across seas.

I left all my friends back home at Gallagher.

I knew nothing about my mission.

I didn't know who my partners were.

BUT MORE IMPORTANTLY!!!!:

I was one my **first** official mission.

I was ready.

37 Minutes and 56 seconds later, our private jet touched down in the middle of nowhere (which REALLY didn't help me). I stumbled out of the plane while the pilot (it was only the two of us traveling) grabbed my ONE (I spent an entire week trying to fit all of my stuff in that thing!) suitcase from the luggage compartment.

Grabbing my trunk from him, I examined my surroundings, which was difficult due the frustratingly heavy fog. From what I could tell, I stood in the middle of a deserted moor, alone with an expensive jet and a single pilot...

"Pilot Lee, where are we, where am I going, and how am I getting there?" I asked. I figured that this would be the easiest way to get the information I wanted and if this didn't work, well I hadn't been going to P&E since 7th grade for nothing!

"We are in Yorkshire, Ms. Morgan, and you will taking the train to London in a few days time," Lee said in his gruff voice. "What you are doing in London is not my business."

"Then what am I doing in the mean time then?" I asked, accepting that he knew no more about my mission than I did.

Lee's answer was interrupted by faint footsteps on the soggy grass. I whipped around me eyes scanning the moor once more, until they landed on a boy about one hundred or so yards away. He was rather scruffy looking, with faded overalls, and a lopsided grin that suited him very well. "'Ey up, Lee! Shift thissen! Yer makin' 'er late," he called out. **(a/n translation: "Hello! Hurry up! You're making her late!)** Oh, right. People speak Broad Yorkshire here. I am soooo glad that we spent a week learning this weird language. Thank you Ms Dabney!

Lee looked at me and raised his grizzled eyebrows. "I suppose that answers your question?" he asked lightly.

"Yes," I said, "yes, it does." With that we followed the boy towards a surprisingly modern house. I was expecting an ivy-covered stone mansion –sort of like Gallagher.

"Mine maister would lyk t' speak wi' thi 'fore supper," the scruffy boy told me when we reached the door. (*my master would like to speak with you before dinner.) I just nodded and slipped through. I found my room, dropped my stuff off, and took a brief nap. ­–Hey flying to England on a stomach full of nerves is hard!

I woke up from my nap the moment I heard voices down the hall. I crept to my door and listened closely. I heard Mr. Lee say quietly, "I think she's asleep. Best not to wake her," and another man's voice –one I did not recognize respond, "Perhaps, but she'll be hungry when she wakes–" too true! "–and I would like to speak with her as soon as possible." That must be the master then. Maybe he knew something about my mission? Was he going to tell me what I would be doing in London?

I turned from the door, yanked my brush through my hair and walked out of my room as calmly as possible. "Good evening gentlemen," I said, adopting a surprised tone.

"Ah, Miss Morgan," said the man standing next to Lee. "I am Master Farrimond, charmed to finally make your acquaintance." I immediately studied him. He had a light British accent, a genial smile, and a warm but weathered face. He was dressed in a dark suit with shiny leather shoes. Well, whatever floats your boat, I guess.

"It's a pleasure to meet you too Master Farrimond," I replied cordially. "I understand that you would like to speak with me?" I said, making it sound like a question. There was no way I was going to wait for his information.

"Yes, yes, if you will follow me to my study." He lead the way to an elegant, comfortable room with a large comfy couch and huge desk. "Have a seat," he said gesturing towards the couch. I sat and looked at him expectantly as he slipped into his office chair. "Cameron Morgan," he started. "it I time you learned your mission."

Here it comes.

**A/N As I said, Cammie's a little OOC, huh? Sorry about that. I just wanted to finish the chapter quickly so she can head off to London soon!!**

**BTW the little boy is a native to Yorkshire, England, so he speaks the local dialect: Broad Yorkshire aka Tyke. I looked a lot of it up, so it's rather choppy, and I don't know if it's at all correct.**

**R&R**

    


	3. CH2 Let the Disguise be Introduced

_**A/N SORRY!!!!!!!! I sort of gave up on writing fanfiction for a while, so this was put on hold. I had started it a while ago, but figured I should at least post more than a few short paragraphs. SORRY SORRY SORRY! I would promise that updates would from now on be regular and fast, but, well, I really don't want to lie on the internet...**_

_

* * *

_

_**A/N (original) I really suck at updating don't I? Hmm... I figured summer would give me more time to write. Well, I think we all see how well that's been working? So how are all of you fantastic fanfic readers doing? Any great ideas you want to see in this story or in Of Suits, Stilettos, and Secrets? PM me or leave your submissions in the reviews. Oh, and don't forget to REVIEW!! PLEASE! SORRY IT'S SO LATE!**_

_**If reading be the seed of joy, read on. (play off of a line in Shakespeare's Twelfth Night: If music be the food of love, play on) **_

_

* * *

_

**Chapter 2: Let the Disguise be Introduced**

"_Have a seat," [Master Farrimond] said gesturing towards the couch. I sat and looked at him expectantly as he slipped into his office chair. "Cameron Morgan," he started. "It's time you learned your mission."_

_Here it comes._

I was half expecting a high tech video/hologram debriefing, with a giant map and blinking red dots, and be told that I have to stop some terrorist from blowing up all the major trade cities in the world and save the global economy or something to that extent, like in movies. But, I'm a Gallagher Girl, not a Hollywood movie star, so I'm smart enough to know that that sort of thing usually doesn't happen.

So I wasn't at all surprised, albeit slightly disappointed, when Master Farrimond slid a thin manila envelope across the desk, saying, "Everything you need to know right now is in that envelope. You leave tomorrow morning at 1:18, sharp. You are to be ready and down at the helicopter by 1:15. I hope you haven't made yourself too comfortable here. Good night." And with that he stood, and began to leave, but I still had questions.

"Wait! Master Farrimond, to where am I heading, and uh, why so early?" I asked.

"To London, of course. You will be joining MI6 immediately upon arrival, and there is less traffic into London at two in the morning. We cannot have a helicopter landing in the middle of the Thames River! Do you not agree that may be just a little... conspicuous? Good night, Ms. Morgan. And Good luck."

* * * * *

Back in my room, I took lay the envelope on my nightstand, plunked down on the bed, and simply stared at it. _My first mission. My first official mission. And it's all in that thin envelope._ Suddenly, all my years of education seemed to weigh on my shoulders as I reached out for the package, and I wondered if it would be enough.

My hands were shaking a little bit as I picked up the manila envelope and silently opened it. Holding my breath, I took the papers out and put them on my duvet, trying to contain my anxiety and excitement –_Yeah, way to be professional, Cam, really_. Only three papers.

All I can say is that there has never been a time I regretted having to learn 14 languages. The first paper was a copy of an old article from 1952, written in French with the headline "Une Nuit sans un Meurtre; le Pire Toujours pour Venir" (A Night without Murder; The Worst Still to Come). A few lines were highlighted:

« La nuit première de cette année sans un meurtre horrifique. Le meurtrier se réserve-t-il son temps ? Les enquêteurs pensent que le meurtrier planifie le meurtre le plus affreux et  
préjudiciable encore: Monsieur Griffiths. » **(A/N : Sorry for any incorrect grammar/vocab; my French is rather… um… yeah…) (A/N: see end of chapter for translation)**

There was also a tiny note scribbled on the side of the article, but the copy cut it off; I set

The second in the pile was a profile description of a young woman by the name of Alexiandra Marquez, and attached was an ID with my picture on it. Well, I may not know who my enemy is or who my partners are, but at least I know who I will be for the span of this mission, and, me being Cammie the Chameleon, that knowledge relaxed me more than any of the pep talks and preparation tactics my mom had given me, or even Mr. Solomon's complete faith in my abilities.

I didn't have to do this as Cameron Morgan, the girl who had lost her father on a mission, but as Alexiandra Marquez, who graduated high school top of her class, who was crowned prom queen, who doesn't have a care in the world, who is staying with her flamboyant aunt in Paris for a year before going to university.

_Alexiandra Marquez __(AKA Alexi)_

_Born: October 16, 1991, Chicago, Illinois_

_Occupation: Just graduated Choate Rosemary Hall, a boarding school in Wallingford, Connecticut  
Taking a year off of school to stay with Aunt Patricia in Paris to "experience new cultures and explore new forms of art"._

_Interests: Was captain of the girl's cross-country team; set the record for the 300yrd dash  
__(A/N I know NOTHING about X country, so don't judge the story based on that please.)  
__Loves to dance and enjoys parties of all sorts. Is also a great artist (i.e. visual arts);  
the year with experienced and flamboyant artist Patricia is an opportunity to practice new styles._

_Food tastes: Favorite foods are clam chowder, dark chocolate, carrots and mango.  
Dislikes: mushrooms, kiwis, eggplant, and crème brûlé._

_Attire: Very feminine and sexy outfits; designer. Always pulled together (i.e. No sweats, always makeup, hair must be done, etc.)_

_Personality: Flirty, witty, gossipy, enjoys being the center of attention, charming, and amicable;  
also very petty, superficial, and prone to jealousy. Was voted Prom Queen at the senior prom._

_Relationship: boyfriend back in Chicago, but the long-distance relationship is not working out._

_Spending time in London while visiting Patricia; used to visit grandfather in London every year until he passed two years ago;  
know the city well._

I picked up the final sheet, expecting an overview of the mission, but all the paper said was:

_Rendez-Vous:_

_3:17am, at the entrance to the London Eye. Remember your cover; utilize it._

_You will each be wearing s symbol of a red rose (provided)._

_Code: "Which pub has the best Real Ale?" "Why, the Duke's Head! Even Marcus Castelles agrees!"_

_I hope to see you alive and alone tomorrow morning. Do not disappoint me._

_Good luck Agent Morgan._

_

* * *

_

**A/N****:** The London Eye is a giant almost Ferris-wheel type attraction on the bank of the River Thames in London (except much much bigger, with enclosed seating), designed to show off some amAzing views of the city on a good day.

**Translation from the French article:**_ « The first night of this year without a horrific murder. Does the murderer bide his time? The investigators think that the murderer plans the most ugly and detrimental murder still: Mister Griffiths. » _

_

* * *

_

**A/N: Sorry it was so short! I sort of got bored, so I decided to save the "Rendez-vous" for the next chapter (which might be up soon, but will probably be up in... i long time, sry). BTW, Sorry for the french if you don't understand it, or for the mistakes in it if you do. Thank you for reading my story!!!!!!!!! I luv u all! And I LUV ur reviews too! :D**


	4. CH3 The Other Masked Strangers

**A/N You guys, I am so proud of myself! two chapters in two days!!!!!! YAY!!! Sorry about the last one though. there really wasn't much story, just a ton of paper transcripts basically. Just so guys know, i'm a big believer in cliffies, so... Im sorry. It's just so much easier to end a chapter with one than try to find a deep/impressive last line. X-P. Yea. SOOOOO let me know if you have any ideas/requests for this story. Im not sure how long I'm going to continue it, considering I sort of stopped reading GG books/fanfic a while ago. I just enjoy this story right now. But anyways requests! Review or PM me. Or, you know, not, if you dont trust me... :D. Okaaaaay im gunna shut up now.**

**_Disclaimer: Anything you recognize, I don't own. Which sucks.

* * *

_**

**Chapter 3: The Other Masked Strangers**

_Rendez-Vous:_

_3:17am, at the entrance to the London Eye.  
Remember your cover; utilize it.  
You will each be wearing s symbol of a red rose (provided).  
Code: "Which pub has the best Real Ale?" "Why, the Duke's Head! Even Marcus Castelles agrees!"  
I hope to see you alive and alone tomorrow morning.  
Do not disappoint me. _

_Good luck Agent Morgan._

My helicopter landed quietly in the surprisingly large backyard of an immense estate. 2:07am. The pilot directed me into the house via a small dingy door that most people would never even notice, unless of course your trained to notice the inconspicuous things... like, you know, a spy is.

I slipped through the sleeping house, memorizing every floorboard, every squeak, and every room I passed through and leaving absolutely no trace. Just because we could land the helicopter in these people's backyard doesn't mean I want to attract their attention to me. That's just not what I do. Cammie the Chameleon, remember?

Once out on the street, I realized that I actually had no idea where I was. There was no street name in sight, and the house numbers were all out of order. I noticed that the mansion I had just snuck through was definitely the biggest of the bunch, but the other estates were still very imposing, although none could even compare to Gallagher.

I gulped in the cold English air, and turned my back on the houses. I was not going to think about Gallagher, or Bex or Liz, or Mom, or Mr. Solomon. I was not going to start wondering about the Blackthorn Boys again –about Zach, about why he'd kissed me– or about Josh and Deedee. No I wasn't going to focus on any of that. I was a girl on a mission.

And so I walked casually down the street (just in case any insomniacs felt inclined to glance out the window...), stopping by the lamppost at the corner. I pulled out the envelope yet again, but this time it was not to pour over the article or memorize my cover. I retrieved the Red Rose broach weighing the package down and pinned it onto my black jacket wear it stood out noticeably enough for anyone looking for it, but overly conspicuous.

From that moment forward, I was no longer Cammie Morgan, I was Alexi Marquez out for a late night walk, exploring London, looking for an artist's inspiration.

* * * * *

By 2:38am, I found myself ducking into surprisingly populated Covent Garden, waiting for the two men who had been following me down the street to move on. They hadn't been behind me very long, but I wasn't taking any chances. I maneuvered my way into the small crowd surrounding a drunken street performer doing a bizarre dance, but everyone seemed to enjoy it. Maybe it was an English thing.

After forcing myself more or less into the center of the crowd, I check behind me briefly in the reflection of my watch to see the two men trying futilely to push into the group, but by the time they had managed to get through, I was already off, slipping into a club with another party.

The club was dimly lit with a pulsating light in rhythm with the roaring dance music. Everyone was yelling to be heard, clamoring for drinks at the bar, and making out in corners. Someone had started a beer chugging contest, and a group had gathered to watch two men try to drink the other under the table. And in the darkest, most discrete corner, sat a young man, whose eyes never left the dance floor, memorizing every movement made, every dress worn.

I sensed the door opening behind me, and quickly darted into the dancing throng, feeling myself become the attention-loving Alexi. A glance towards the door told me that things would be ending soon. The bouncer wasn't letting anyone else in, and he had already packed his bag. The bartender too had closed down the bar and people were starting to leave in twos and threes. When a slightly larger group started heading out the back door, I joined them. It's easier to lose a tail –if I even had one– in a crowd, plus you're less conspicuous if you are only one out of five.

Once outside, the party scattered a little in the piazza, a few going their separate ways, they others staying to have a smoke. I drifted away, checking my watch I saw that it was 2:53am. I had 24 minutes to get to the London Eye.

After 16 minutes of fast –but casual, of course– walking, I had reached the Embankment Pier on the River Thames, and I could see the London Eye on the other side. With eight minutes to go, I decided exercise my cover to the fullest. I sat down on the pier, pulled out a notebook and pencil I had grabbed before leaving Yorkshire and started to sketch the London eye. With four and a half minutes left, I slipped everything back into my bag, and made my way across the Hungerford Bridge and then continued along the river until I reached the London Eye.

I didn't need to look at my watch to know that I still had over a minute until the rendez-vous, so I pulled out my sketchbook, and continued my drawing from a different angle. Abstract. _Well, I'm supposed to be experimenting in art styles, right?_

Despite my attention to my drawing, I stayed completely vigilant. I mean, this is what I've been training for since SEVENTH GRADE. It's second nature now to pay attention to everything, and I mean _everything_, including the cute boy who's about thirteen yards away heading in this direction (i.e. Northeast, along the river and towards the London Eye) with bags under his eyes, looking like he couldn't sleep at all. Of course, I also noticed the girl with him, who seemed to be pulling him along. I heard her say something about a "surprise... gunna love it.... promise you won't..." My attention was drawn to her gorgeous and subtle necklace, but when she paused and he continued walking a little further, I noticed his tattoo.

They were both Red Rose symbols.

* * *

**TADA!!!!!! Next chapter: Masks Removed: Cammie meets her fellow agents, and the mission is FINALLY revealed... maybe. Depends if i've figured it out yet or not. **

**Remember: 1) PM/Review with any requests 2) Flames are welcome 3) PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE make me happy and review? please?**

**O, btw. every chapter will prolly be about this length, unless you want a year between updates :P**

**REVIEW PLEASE? FOR ME?**


	5. AN Please Don't Shoot

short and to the point: **STORY DISCONTINUED.**

I hate writing author's notes, especially to tell you all that I am done writing this story....

And from here, it's really just me blabbering, so you really don't have to read the rest, but i always end up reading the ANs all the way through so....

* * *

Sorry all, due to changing interests and busy schedules, I am discontinuing both of my GG stories. Desloée, mes amis, mais c'est le vie. I'm sorry to all of you who have so patiently waited for my few-and-far-between updates, and thank you for your reviews! For those of you who waited less patiently, I am also sorry! And thank you for YOUR reviews. I love when my inbox fills up with reviews, flames or compliments!

Hoping you can forgive me,

CF

Crepuscolo Femmina

:D (: :D (: :D


End file.
